


Down Mexico Way

by jdrush



Category: The X-Files
Genre: A little angst, F/M, a couple of drunken kisses, a little flirting, a little humor, but skinner is a gentleman, of course he is, post episode
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-21
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-18 16:29:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29612229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jdrush/pseuds/jdrush
Summary: In the aftermath of "John Doe", Walter & Monica sit down for a drink.
Relationships: Monica Reyes/Walter Skinner
Comments: 3
Kudos: 2





	Down Mexico Way

**Author's Note:**

> DISCLAIMER: These characters belong to CC, 1013, and FOX.  
> AUTHOR'S NOTES: I'm slowly uploading some of my old stories to AO3. This story was posted on my livejournal under the title 'Chain Lighting' (which never really worked) on January 6, 2007, but it was written a few years before that.

Goddamn, I hate Mexico!  
  
I know, that's not very PC of me, but if you'd gone through the shit *I* have the last 36 hours, you'd feel the same way, I guarantee it. The hoops I've jumped through, the red tape I've cut through, the mound of bullshit higher than the Sears Tower that I've waded through . . . just to find one man, one missing federal agent. So why did I do it? Because I knew he would have done the same for me.  
  
Fuck, I really hate Mexico!  
  
John J. Doggett, the now no-longer missing federal agent, was currently recuperating from his ordeal. Except for some nasty cuts and bruises, he appeared in good health, but appearances can be deceiving. We all knew the real damage was not external, but internal. As bad as Doggett's last couple of weeks had been, his true nightmare was just beginning, as he now must contend with trying to reconstruct his fragmented memory and regaining everything he lost. Some sort of brainwashing or programmed amnesia or some other such phenomenon was at the root of his condition. Nine years dealing with the X-Files and just when I'm sure I've seen it all – BLAMMO! – I get walloped upside the head with something new. No doubt about it, I was getting way too old for this shit.  
  
And I still hated Mexico!  
  
11:25 p.m. and my day was finally at an end. Debriefings were done. Reports had been filed. The bad people were in custody, awaiting their customary slap on the wrist. My cell phone had been surprisingly quiet . . . maybe because I had pulled the battery out a few hours ago, not wanting to deal with Kersh's crap. Hell, I already knew I was in hot water for disobeying his direct orders not to go to Mexico, but what was I supposed to do? Just leave Doggett and Reyes hanging in the wind? One of my agents was missing, and his partner was on a personal crusade to find him, no matter what the cost. My hands were tied – I had no choice. I had to help them.  
  
Years of working with Mulder and Scully eased any qualms I may have had about disobeying my direct superior's orders. Hey, it's not MY fault Kersh didn't give two shits if Doggett was dead or alive, or if John was even found at all. The only thing Alvin cared about was his bottom line, and how he could make himself look better to the Director. Well, you know what? Fuck him. Whatever he wanted to say to me could wait until I got back to Washington. All I wanted to do at that moment was to go up to my room, wash away a two-inch layer of Mexican dirt, and sleep for about a week.  
  
Strolling through the lobby of the modest Sabinas hotel that I was temporarily calling home, I caught a glimpse of an open bar out of the corner of my eye.  
  
Okay, new set of plans: FIRST a drink. Then the room/shower/sleep thing.  
  
Upon entering the nearly empty room, I realized that someone else had the same idea – Monica Reyes, now dressed in a simple black tank top and a pair of faded, well-worn jeans, was sitting at the bar, a newly-opened bottle of Cuevo Gold in front of her. I watched as she slammed a shot, placed the glass back on the counter, and expertly prepared another. In fact, she was so busy applying the salt to her hand that she didn't hear me approach her. "Agent Reyes, you keep that up, and you'll be under the table in no time."  
  
"That's pretty much the idea, Sir," she responded without looking up at me, replacing the saltshaker and picking up a slice of lime. This time I got the whole show – first she licked the salt off completely, then she sucked hard on the lime wedge, then she downed the shot.  
  
"I must say, I've never seen it done like that before," I commented as I took the seat beside her. "Isn't the lime supposed to come last?"  
  
"Well, I've always liked the lick, suck, THEN swallow method best," she answered with a small smirk, and I'm sure I only imagined the mischievous twinkle in her eye as she said it. Pushing the bottle and bowl of lime wedges over to me, she mock-challenged, "Wanna join me?"  
  
I just shook my head and waved them away. "No way. Those days are long behind me," I chuckled. "Scotch is my poison now."  
  
She pulled back the bottle with a shrug. "Suit yourself," she replied off-handedly, then called out something in Spanish to the bartender. I've never thought Spanish was a particularly romantic language, but the words dripping from Reyes' lips were musical – and what they produced was just magical, as a full tumbler of Scotch and ice was set down in front of me.  
  
Turning to the young lady, I uttered a heartfelt, "Thanks."  
  
Another shrug, this time accompanied with a genuine smile. "No sweat."  
  
I took a sip and let the smooth amber liquid flow through me, leaving a soothing, comforting warmth in its wake. Oh, yeah – this is just what I needed after such a shitty day. Seeing that Reyes was preparing another shot for herself, I quickly asked, "So, how's John doing?"  
  
She put down the bottle, the smile fading. "About as well as can be expected," she reported. "I finally got him to sleep an hour ago. It took two Ativan to do the job, but I wanted him to get some rest."  
  
I nodded in agreement to her method. "He more than earned it."  
  
"That's what I figured. I'll just be happy once we get him back to the States and he can be checked out by our own doctors."  
  
"I couldn't agree with you more, Agent Reyes." I swallowed a healthy swig of my drink before adding, "You did good work on this one. I'll be putting in a commendation for you once we get back home."  
  
"No offense, Sir, but I'm sure the Big Brass doesn't share your enthusiasm," she scoffed.  
  
Lick. Suck. Swallow. There was a sexiness to her actions that I don't think she was aware of – the way her tongue licked off the salt, then licked her lips after she consumed the tequila. Very erotic, and I found myself shaking my head to dislodge those thoughts. After all, she was my subordinate, and ideas like that were completely inappropriate. The fact that my body was totally overriding both my brain and my conscience told me I really had to get laid more often.  
  
Yet another thought which wasn't proper around present company.  
  
How long had it been now? Six months? A year? More than that? Mulder's abduction. Scully's pregnancy. Shake-ups within the Bureau and the X-Files. Mulder's return and subsequent disappearance. Trying to keep Scully and William safe. I barely had the time and the energy to take care of the basics – food, sleep, showing up for work. Who had time for relationships? Especially when the relationship I wanted was with a woman that was off limits to me, one I could never have?  
  
A woman . . . who was sitting less than two feet away from me.  
  
I'm not sure when I first noticed Monica. No, I take that back. I noticed her right from the start, actually. I'll never forget the day Agent Doggett first introduced me to the intriguing Agent Reyes. I was instantly taken by her intelligence, her sly wit, her warm personality, and her quirky way of looking at the world. She was endlessly fascinating and charming, not to mention exceptionally attractive. Since she's been assigned to me, I've eagerly looked forward to our weekly meetings in a way I never did before. But even if she weren't my subordinate, she was devoted to John Doggett. It was a hopeless situation.  
  
Now was not the time for those negative thoughts, however. For the moment, my responsibility was to my agent, and giving her the praise she deserved. "Are you kidding? Against all odds, you FOUND him, even when everyone else had given up. With numerous roadblocks thrown into your way, you never lost hope. You're a hero, Agent Reyes."  
  
She laughed mirthlessly at that. "Yeah, a hero who broke every rule in the book – and some they didn't think of. I'll be lucky to have a job when we get back to D.C." She looked me right in the eye, hers still clear and bright despite the alcohol she had imbibed and stated bluntly, "You'd be doing your career a world of good to distance yourself from all this."  
  
Then it was MY turn to laugh bitterly. "Too late. I went against Kersh's direct orders, remember? I'm up shit's creek without a paddle here."  
  
Holding up her filled shot glass, she jokingly toasted, "To being screwed." I raised my glass in mocking tribute, and took a sip.  
  
Lick. Suck. Swallow . . . and I felt my cock beginning to throb.  
  
Knowing I was in serious trouble if I continued conjuring up those forbidden thoughts of my drinking companion, I gestured to her shot glass and observed, "You're really putting those away. Is there something else troubling you?"  
  
She paused with a wedge of lime halfway to her lips and fixed me with those huge brown eyes of hers . . . beautiful tragic eyes framed with long, thick eyelashes. Just as I was in danger of drowning in their depths, she lowered them to stare at the bar, and sighed sadly. "Do you know I never saw John cry like that before?" she said softly. "Not when we found his son, not even when we buried the poor boy. John is such a strong man, a private man. I'm sure he cried when I wasn't around, but in front of me, he was so brave, so stoic." She sighed again. "To see him break down like that . . . it almost killed me."  
  
My heart went out to this compassionate, dispirited woman. "When was this?" I asked, gently.  
  
Again her eyes drilled through me and I felt myself starting to go under once more. She slowly blinked once, then twice, before answering, "Back at the garage, right after I found him. He didn't know who I was, but he trusted me anyway." I could hear the wonder in her voice at that notion.  
  
"Because he could sense you were there to help him, not hurt him."  
  
She shrugged her shoulders. "Doesn't matter . . . that's what I ended up doing, anyway." I didn't know what to say, so I said nothing, figuring she'd elaborate when she was ready. Shaking her head slowly, she mused, "What did I ever do to earn the privilege of breaking John's heart not once, but twice?"  
  
I shook my head in confusion. "Agent Reyes . . . Monica . . . I'm not following you."  
  
Her eyes grew wider at the sound of her first name, and she gave me a wry little smile. "You know about what happened to John's son, right? How we met when I was assigned to the case?" At my affirmative nod, she continued, "Well, *I * was the one who found his son's body, wait, that's not exactly true. See, John was busy following up on a lead when we got the call that Luke had been discovered by some woman who was out walking her dog. But *I * was the one who had to contact John, and I was the one who met him in the field. He wasn't more than foot away from me when he saw Luke's lifeless body for the first time. Then today, I got to kill Luke all over again." And with that, she downed another shot.  
  
Even as her confession moved me, the sensual 'lick, suck, swallow' raced straight to my aching cock. Dammit! Was going to have to revise my plans once more: drink, room, long COLD shower, sleep. My God, what was wrong with me? This poor woman was in pain and all I could think about was my damn sex-drive. I took a deep breath, hoping to beat those tantalizing thoughts into submission. "That must've been horrible for you, Monica, but it wasn't your fault," I told her, in a voice more tender than I'm used to using.  
  
"How do you know that?" she asked, her big eyes filled with curiosity.  
  
"I read the report when Doggett was assigned to me. You did everything you could to find his son, but the child was dead before the search even began. So how could it have been your fault?"  
  
"I know, but still . . . ." She let the sentence trail off, pausing before she continued. "I was the one who had to break the news to John, like his own personal messenger of death or something."  
  
"I think you're being far too hard on yourself," I scolded.  
  
"Maybe," she agreed reluctantly, lowering her eyes again, "but sometimes, when he looks at me, I get this feeling like he blames me. Not that Luke is dead, but the fact that he KNOWS Luke is dead." She glanced up at me, her eyebrows furrowed. "Does that make any sense or am I drunk?"  
  
I chuckled at that, noticing her eyes were starting to glaze over. "Well, if you're not drunk, you're certainly on your way. But yeah, I understand what you're saying." My chuckles died away and I took another sip of my drink. "That's what you meant when you said you killed Luke again? Because you had to tell John again that his son was dead?"  
  
She nodded, imperceptibly. "The memory of his son was the only memory he had of his real life, the only thing keeping him going while he was down here. It kept him sane. Then I come along, snatch his reason for living away from him and stomp it into the ground. He trusted me and I crushed him. I took away everything he loved." Even without her looking at me, I could see her eyes were filling with tears. "Maybe he would have been better off not getting his memory back," she sniffed.  
  
Without thinking of the consequences, I reached out and clasped my hand over hers. Giving it a friendly, supportive squeeze, I admonished, "I know you don't believe that. You heard what he said. His memories are his identity. Good or bad, no matter the hurt and the pain they caused, they're what made Doggett the man he is."  
  
She looked at our joined hands, then lifted her eyes to meet mine, gratitude shining behind the wetness. "But don't you understand, Sir? In the space of a heartbeat, he lost everything that meant anything to him."  
  
"Not everything," I reminded her softly, still clutching her hand. "He still has you."  
  
"Yeah, right," she snorted derisively, pulling her hand from mine and going about preparing another shot.  
  
I cast her a glance at the obvious snubbing. "Did I say something wrong?"  
  
She ignored me, finishing her preparations. Once she had the salt in place, she looked back at me, eyes now burning bright with indignation. "You think we're sleeping together, don't you?" she accused bluntly.  
  
I was momentarily thrown by the non sequitur, but quickly recovered. "Agent Reyes, that's none of my business," I insisted, even though that very thought had crossed my mind on more than one occasion, usually accompanied by an unhealthy dose of jealousy.  
  
"Bullshit," she stated candidly. Lick, suck, swallow . . . and I squirmed uncomfortably in my seat. Okay, a VERY long cold shower! "Everyone assumes that. You think I don't hear the snide comments behind my back? Hell, half the Bureau has a pool going for when I'll get knocked up with Doggett's love child, just like Scully and Mulder. And you've done fuck-all to stop the rumors."  
  
My eyebrow went up on that one. "Tequila certainly loosens your tongue doesn't it, Agent?" I deadpanned.  
  
She smiled sheepishly, and I noticed her eyes were much glassier than before, decidedly unfocused. "Sorry about that, Sir – I was out of line. It's just so frustrating, that's all." Exhaling sharply, she said, "I'm a good agent, and so is John. And we're practically the laughingstock of the Bureau."  
  
"If you plan on staying with the X-Files, you better get used to it, Agent Reyes," I advised her. "It comes with the territory."  
  
"The voice of experience, huh?" she chuckled.  
  
I nodded and gave a half-smile. "Nine years worth, and in that time, I've come to the conclusion it's just because the rest of them are jealous."  
  
"Jealous?" she repeated incredulously, then snickered, "that's a good one, Sir."  
  
"I'm serious. They know you guys are good. And they know the solve rate of the X-Files is one of the best in the Bureau." I pushed my glasses up to rub the bridge of my nose tiredly before continuing, "The other agents and directors – they don't understand what you're up against, what your work entails, and people make fun of things they don't understand. As for myself, I'm extremely proud of to have both you and Agent Doggett on my team. I can't think of two finer agents I'd want under me."  
  
She batted her eyes flirtatiously and purred, "Do you think of me under you often, Sir?"  
  
I almost choked on my drink. "I beg your pardon?"  
  
"Oh, you don't have to beg," she giggled. "I would gladly serve under you, Sir."  
  
Jesus Christ! I thought my erection was going to rip right through my trousers. Gathering the remainder of my wits, I managed to stammer, "Agent Reyes . . . I don't think . . . ."  
  
"Do you know how hot you are in Kevlar?"  
  
"What?!"  
  
"I said, you look really sexy in Kevlar." She gave a deep, dreamy sigh. "I don't know what it is, but there's just something about a man in a bulletproof vest . . . ."  
  
This was getting way out of hand, and I had to put the breaks on before it spun completely out of control. With a shaky right hand I snatched the shot glass away from her while pushing the bottle away with my left. "I think you've had enough, Agent Reyes. You're officially 86'd."  
  
Placing her right hand over mine, she sensuously stroked the soft skin of my wrist and cooed, "I'd much rather be 69'd."  
  
I didn't need a mirror to know my cheeks were burning bright red. "Okay, that's it," I declared as I paid off the bartender – praying the old man didn't speak English – grabbed my coat, and hustled my giddy, inebriated agent out of the bar before she embarrassed either of us any further. She followed me without too much protesting--but that may have been because she was too busy trying to goose me. When we got to her room, I said a brusque, "Goodnight," and turned to make my leave, but Monica had other plans.  
  
She dragged me into the room with more strength that I would have given her credit for and offered, "Want a nightcap, Walter?"  
  
Ignoring the use of my first name for the present, I pointed out, "I believe I just cut you off, Agent Reyes."  
  
"Monica," she corrected. "I like it when you call me Monica." By then she had reached the mini-bar; opening the door, she bent over at the waist to read the inventory. "I've got Coke, ginger ale, root beer . . . ."  
  
I knew I should leave, or at the very least stop looking at her shapely ass encased in those tight jeans. The faster I distanced myself from the temptation all around me the better, but I couldn't seem to get my legs in gear. And before I was aware of saying anything, I heard the words, "I'll take a Coke," spilling from my lips. As soon as they were spoken, I cringed, knowing there was no way to take them back.  
  
"One Coke coming up." She snagged a can out of the fridge, and a 7-Up for herself. When she went to stand up, however, she moved too fast and lost her balance, falling flat on that cute little butt I had just been admiring. She sat on the floor for a moment, looking more stunned than hurt. I was instantly beside her, helping her to her feet. "Watch out for that first step," she cautioned with a titter, "it's a doozy."  
  
"Maybe you should just get into bed," I recommended.  
  
"Will you be joining me?" she giggled, leaning in closer to me. Face flushed, eyes dilated, lips parted and wet and inviting. Her perfume reminded me clear night skies over the desert – clean and pure and free. I swallowed hard, trying to squelch the desire building to a crescendo within me, but she wasn't making it easy. Running a caressing hand down my chest, she purred, "You know, you're a very sexy man, Walter Skinner – even without the Kevlar."  
  
Giving her my finest 'stern A.D. glare', I responded, "And you're a very drunk woman, Agent Reyes."  
  
She paused to think about that for a moment, her hand resting over my heart, then smiled seductively. "Well, I'll be sober in the morning . . . but you'll still be sexy."  
  
I had no idea what to make of all this outrageous flirting from her. Was it just because she was drunk and didn't know what she was saying? Or could she speak her mind simply because she WAS drunk? Either way, it was dangerous to stay in her room. I felt myself swaying, quickly losing the battle. I feared if I stayed any longer, there'd be on turning back. With one final burst of self-control, I replied diplomatically, "While I'm very . . . flattered . . . I think perhaps it would be best if I leave right now."  
  
"Are you sure, Sir?" she pouted, and the next thing I knew, her arms were around my neck, and her lips were pressed to mine. Oh God, this wasn't good . . . not good at all. I tried to pull away, but found I couldn't move, seemingly frozen to the spot as her kiss radiated through me. I could taste the bitterness of the tequila, the tangy-sweetness of the lime, the lingering saltiness . . . oh, God, she felt so good, TASTED so good, and I hated myself for reacting. She was obviously not fully responsible for her actions, and I knew it was wrong to take advantage of her in this condition, but I couldn't stop myself. I had thought of this moment for many months now, unable to act on my feelings. So I ignored the voice of my conscience screaming at me to pull away, and returned her kiss as passionately as she was giving it. If this was all I'd ever have, I was going to make the most of it.  
  
Sliding my arms around her waist, I licked the remaining salt from her lips, then slipped my tongue past them. A little moan vibrated in her throat as she melted into my embrace; I felt her rocking her hips against me as her tongue twirled itself around mine. My hands trailed down her back and cupped her curvaceous behind, pulling her closer to me.  
  
Oh, God, it was so damn good. Her taste, her touch, her smell shot through me like lightning, setting my entire body ablaze, making me feel alive for the first time in years. I had fantasized about this moment, but the reality left those dreams in the dust. I wanted her so badly I thought I'd cry. Forget about the implications. We could worry about those in the morning. But for tonight, we could have Paradise.  
  
However, just as I was about to tumble her onto the bed, my damn conscience managed to wrestle control away from my libido. As badly as I wanted Monica, it wasn't right to take her like this, when she was drunk and vulnerable. Perhaps someday . . . but not today.  
  
And so I drew away from her – reluctantly – knowing it was the right thing to do and ended the kiss. As we parted, I noticed she had the most beautifully dazed look in her eyes that had nothing to do with the tequila. "Wow," she mumbled in amazement.  
  
Wow was right. I tenderly brushed some stray strands of hair out of her face and smiled down at her. "All right, young lady. You've gotten your goodnight kiss. Now get to bed like a good little girl, okay?"  
  
"Okay," she sighed distractedly, already climbing into the bed, still fully dressed. I carefully removed her shoes and tucked her in, giving her another small kiss on the forehead before I even realized what I was doing. Turning on my heel, I went to leave but I only got as far as the door when I heard a small, "Sir?"  
  
"Yes, agent?"  
  
"I . . . Doggett and I are just friends," she whispered, shyly. "I thought you'd like to know."  
  
"You owe me no explanations. Your life is your own," I told her, but I couldn't help feeling a little light-hearted at the news – it gave me some hope for the future. "And remember, don't let those ignorant jerks at the Bureau get to you."  
  
She gave a small laugh. "Thank you, Sir. And thank you for being there for me tonight."  
  
"Anytime, agent," I assured her.  
  
"Anyplace, Sir," she giggled.  
  
"You better be careful what you wish for, Agent Reyes," I growled, playfully. "I may take you up on that someday."  
  
"I hope so, Sir," she murmured.  
  
With a shake of my head, I chuckled, "Goodnight, Monica."  
  
"'Night, Walter," she slurred happily, her deep breathing letting me know she was already nearly asleep. Closing the door quietly behind me with a smile, I headed down the corridor towards my own room . . . and my date with an extra long cold shower.  
  
Did I mention how much I hate Mexico?  
  
The End


End file.
